Tyche
by DaenerysTargary3n
Summary: When Tyrion is forced to consummate his marriage under harsh circumstances and Sansa falls pregnant, what will the pair do to protect their unborn child and will Sansa's condition render her immune to her nephew's advances? *Shae has already been sent away*
1. Chapter I

**~ TYCHE ~**

Author's Note: First of all, as usual, I have to say that I do not own _A Song of Ice and Fire_ or _Game of Thrones_ , which belong to George R.R. Martin and HBO (lucky bastards!). This story was born in an unusual way where I decided on the title and the format of the story first and then it took me a year to discover that _Tyche_ was going to be a Tyrion and Sansa story about suffering, abuse, love, redemption and acceptance. It is M-rated mostly from beginning to end with scenes of a sexual nature, explicit language and adult themes. While this should put you off if you are sensitive to that kind of thing, it's really nothing that isn't in the show or books, so as readers you should be okay. The inspiration for the opening premise was born from my favourite tv show, Showtime's _The Borgias_ , and a scene in the final series where Lucrezia and Alfonso are made to prove that their marriage is incontestable and more than politics. I would really recommend the series if you haven't seen it but I'm not copying anything from either show or book series with the exception of chapter titles which are quotes from either the HBO show or George R.R. Martin's saga, plus Tyrion's Knight of the Flowers line which I have kept in because I do love it oh so much! Anyway, enough boring drivel from me, and happy reading!

 **DAENERYSTARGARY3N**

* * *

 _ **Tyche**_ _(English /ˈtaɪki/; from Greek:_ _Τύχη_ _, meaning "luck") was the presiding tutelary deity_ _that governed the fortune and prosperity of a city, its destiny._

 _ **"You won't be a prisoner after today, you'll be my wife"**_

"Bring the groom and its lucky, lucky bride! He won't be difficult to carry, ladies! The conjugal bed awaits the newlyweds," the King of the Andals and the First Men roared out in his lion cub voice over the feasting horde of courtiers, before whispering for his uncle's ears only, "and I am sure the show will be...thrilling."

Before Tyrion could find his words he was swept up by a swarm of gowned ladies of the court. He watched helpless as his new lady wife was treated in the same manner by a few of his nephew's odious white cloaks. Luckily their chamber wasn't far from the banqueting hall, so Tyrion had little to no time for his fears concerning Joffrey's menacing words to thrive in his imaginative mind.

Once the ladies of the court had dumped him unceremoniously onto his bed, Sansa was thrown down onto the scarlet covers beside him, trembling with fear and apprehension. While the white cloaks and noblewomen made their exit, the king, Tywin Lannister and Cersei accompanied by some Lannister men-at-arms entered the newlyweds' bedchamber.

"What do you want?" Tyrion inquired.

The evil smirk that swept across Joffrey's face spoke volumes but nevertheless, he said, "What I want is to see what this little traitor you have as your wife will have to endure in her marriage bed from the Imp. Yet, grandfather seems to…"

"You need not speak for me, Your Grace," Tywin boldly interrupted, "for I am not so senile or without my wits that I do not know my own wishes. Now, Tyrion, Sansa, I want that the two of you conceive a child, a Lannister child that can inherit the North. To be sure I will eventually get what I want, it is necessary that I make sure your union is consummated and that you are indeed a virgin so that no questions can arise as to your child's parentage. I will be _certain_ that your husband is the only man - though I hesitate to call him thus - between your thighs. I will see the deed ahead of you both done to my satisfaction."

"Your satisfaction? Father," Tyrion raged, now fully aware of what his vile relatives had entered their rooms to witness, "you wish to watch me, the son you can barely stand take my wife's maidenhead? You would humiliate us both further? Have the pair of us not been humbled enough this day? You would force us to suffer more?"

Tywin ignored his son's anger, "You are always proclaiming yourself the 'god of tits and wine', or some other ridiculous title. Now, you have had your fill of wine, so it is time to prove your worth in your other…domain."

The young woman lying on the bed who had been listening to her new husband rail against his father had been struck dumb in fear for what was to come. She knew she was expected to be a true wife to the dwarf beside her but he had always shown her mercy in her times of hardship in King's Landing and part of her heart had been hoping he would allow her space in her new marriage to resign herself to her fate as the Imp's wife. Upon realising that her new father-in-law, sister-in-law and the king, along with a band of common soldiers, were going to spectate as her grotesque husband was intimate with her, her quivery heart overwhelmed her good sense.

She made to run. Before her head could stop the message her nerves sent to her slender legs telling them to get her out of the bedchamber and as far away from peril as she could, Sansa gathered her gown up and propelled herself out of bed and towards the door.

Quickly, the Lannister guards were surrounding her and had their arms about her waist and arms tugging her unkindly back to her husband in their bed. Once they had deposited her where she belonged now, Joffrey approached and brought his closed hand down hard upon her, with a force so strong that she fell back against the wooden headboard with a dull thump.

"You cowardly, evil little shit! King or not, I am warning you, _Your Grace_ ," Tyrion spat, his voice full of venom, pulling Joffrey down to his height, "no one, including you, raises a hand against my wife! Now she is mine, my property, you will not touch her! Am. I. Clear?"

Tyrion shoved the king away from the bed and back into the arms of his mother who had suspiciously stood silent until now.

"You do not threaten him, dwarf! Who do you think you are to utter such words against your king?"

"Cersei, be silent!" Tywin ordered curtly, not caring for his only daughter's rancor against her brother.

"Tyrion," the Hand of the King continued, "if you do indeed have such strong feelings of protection to your wife, I suggest that you make her your wife in more than name only. Else, I can always find another Lannister to take your place and 'protect' your wife."

Just the suggestion of another blonde-haired man fucking the virginal Stark girl made the insides of both newlyweds churn. Neither wished to subject Sansa to the cruelty she would endure with Kevan, Lancel or even Tywin Lannister himself as her bridegroom.

Joffrey turned away from his mother's breast to whisper loud enough for all to hear, "I wouldn't mind the feel of her maiden cunt around my cock, grandfather, if uncle is not up to bedding his wife…"

Since Sansa thought that the Lannisters her mind had furnished as stand-ins for her husband would be unkind spouses, her imagination sent her into hysterics at the prospect of the king, reputed for his many acts of savagery, sadism and depravity with whores summoned to his bed, being her first lover.

Pulling herself forward so she was right beside Tyrion and taking his face in her palm, she murmured, "My lord, Tyrion, please do as they command. You must take me. I am your lady wife and you have to take me. Neither of us want this and it will be unpleasant, yet we have been given no choice. _You_ are my lord husband and it has to be _you_ that takes my maidenhead. I cannot have the monster who murdered my father have that pleasure. _Please_."

Tyrion was stunned by the girl's plea. It broke something within him that the daughter of Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully had been brought so low that she had to beg the Imp to fuck her while his family looked on. He would, of course, oblige his wife, but he had no intention of her first sexual experience being as unpleasant as she believed it would be.

While the couple were ensconced in their internal preparations for what was to come, Cersei had overheard Sansa's words to her little brother. She had to bite her tongue to prevent herself from expressing her anger at what the little bitch said about her boy.

"Well, little dove," the queen regent snarled, "I was going to leave you with the men to complete your wedding night, but seeing as you actually want to have my brother between your thighs, I think I will remain. I've always been curious as to how women can stand to have him put his member inside them but here you are…begging him to take you. I want to see if the god of tits and wine in all its disgusting glory."

The god of tits and wine rolled his eyes at his sister's eagerness to find out why any soul in Westeros would find him amenable.

"My lord?" Sansa asked him when all drew quiet and still in the calm before the storm.

Tyrion smiled at her, his new wife, "Lie back, Sansa."

Sansa saw the tenderness and care in her husband's mismatched eyes and felt relief as her fear began to ebb. He had shown her mercy and he would not hurt her any more than was to be expected. As her husband slowly pushed the hem of her gown up her calves, then her thighs until it pooled just at her pelvis, her breathing grew more erratic as her husband drew closer.

"Sweetheart," he said, watching her chest rise and fall wildly, "relax. I know I am not the husband of your dreams; I am no Loras Tyrell. I am ugly and I am many years your senior. In the light I am a deformed dwarf and only worthy of the whores I used to bed, but I promise you, in the dark I am the Knight of the Flowers."

His lady met his eyes and she nodded slightly, comprehending his kind platitudes. His endearment and oath did not take away all of her anxiety but knowing that her lord husband wished to please her and had more grasp of the situation than she did was of comfort.

"Please, my lord," Sansa replied breathlessly, "just let it be over soon."

At once, Tyrion pushed himself up and kissed her full on the mouth. He could feel her surprise at his lips seeking to claim hers and his ardent desire to know her body in more detail, but she did return his gesture having forgotten the presence of the silent audience they had beyond their bed.

Breaking their kiss, Tyrion whispered, "Sansa, you have said that I am your husband. It is my duty not only to protect you but to make you happy and to bring you pleasure. Now, I may yet need to work for your heart's contentment, but here I can tend to your body and its satisfaction. Let me love you and give you what little happiness you can find in this cursèd city."

She could only nod in response, his words were so sincere and romantic. As she watched her husband lower himself back down so that his face was inches away from her womanhood, her anticipation grew and quelled her fear.

Tyrion placed a chaste kiss to the soft skin of her thigh and peppered her lean stomach with more. When he heard his wife let out a quiet and no doubt, involuntary, moan of pleasure, he smiled against her navel before blowing a small gust of air into the dip. He silently vowed then that he would learn this body and study its motions and reactions to his ministrations like a book. He would one day play his wife like a musical instrument. He would master the art of lovemaking with the only partner he would have now.

While his mouth continued to bestow kisses upon his wife's lower abdomen, his fingers caressed their way up Sansa's inner thigh. They soon reached their destination and Tyrion slowly stroked Sansa's mound, surprised at the wetness he felt there. With a stretch, his mouth moved higher to his wife's waiting and pert tits. Littering kisses along the valley between her breasts before sucking the hardened nipples on both breasts combined with the attentions he was paying to her crotch proved to be a successful manoeuvre in eliciting more sounds of ecstasy from the young woman.

"Tyrion…" Sansa sighed.

He stopped his play with her breasts and sex to gaze at the beauty beneath him, unable to trust what his ears had heard. She had breathed his name in her pleasure and he kissed her passionately for it. This time, the kiss shared between them was not chaste or innocent, but filled with ardour and gratification.

Encouraged by her utterance of his name, Tyrion moved down to place his mouth at her entrance, confident that he would give her her first orgasm with his talented tongue alone. He kissed the top of her mound gently before trailing his tongue down to her glistening, untouched cunt.

When he slipped his tongue inside her folds, her gasp followed loudly. He did not cease his ministrations and quickly found her sensitive bundle of nerves that would swiftly seize and release sending euphoria through every beautiful part of her being. As he licked and swirled his tongue around her clitoris, he fingered her labia, coating his digits in her wetness before inserting one of his stubby fingers into her.

Sansa had never been under such intense stimulation or perfect pressure in her life. When Tyrion had kissed her breasts while stroking her, she thought that her pleasure had reached its peak. She had surprised herself by uttering his name in the throes of passion but was glad that it pleased her husband. The kiss that followed was hot and bursting with desire. The only thought she had in the moments before her husband commenced his seduction was that she did not desire him, yet he had been explicit with his desire to make her happy and lust for her body. She could not believe that the man who was derided by nearly all who met him and dubbed ugly and vile by the world was bringing her such pleasure and satisfaction with only his mouth and fingers. He truly was the Knight of the Flowers…

"More, my lord, please."

His wife's plea stirred her husband to thrust one more finger inside her tightness. As he continued to fondle her clit with his tongue and started to scissor his fingers within his new-minted bride, feeling how narrow her channel was and how wet she had become, he knew her orgasm was fast-approaching.

"Say my name, Sansa, say it again." Tyrion demanded, his lips still against her womanhood.

"Tyrion."

Smiling, Tyrion bit down gently on the thrumming bundle of nerves at her opening and felt her walls shudder about his fingers and a warm flood coat his hand.

"By the Gods!" Sansa shrieked as the height of pleasure drowned her.

Feeling accomplished with himself and pleased by his young wife's reaction, Tyrion placed a kiss on her hipbone as he crawled up towards her while she came down from her high.

"That was all very…educational," the voice of Tywin Lannister said, interrupting the lovers' respite, "but not what is required. Do. Your. Duty."

Tyrion turned to his wife and stroked her flushed cheek, "Sansa, this next bit will be painful for you and I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. You deserve so much better but I will do everything in my power to ease the pain."

She drew in a quick breath at the remembrance that she would soon be hurt but felt comfort in the embrace of the man - her husband - who had just brought her more pleasure than she knew existed in the cruel world she had grown accustomed to and was reminded of by her father-in-law's interjection.

"I trust you, husband."

Tyrion kissed her for that and then pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it out of the bed for a servant to retrieve later. He noted Sansa's eyes flit down in an attempt to catch sight of his manhood, but was grateful that the shadows created by their bed protected her from that vision. As he lowered himself down her body, he parted her knees and fit himself in the divide between her sylphlike legs.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he muttered as he positioned his tip at her opening, "it will be over soon enough."

Sansa was about to soothe his worries, surprisingly relishing the second time that term of endearment had fallen from his lips addressed to her, when the agonising intrusion into her body came. She cried out as she felt her barrier breached and her slim passage expand to accommodate her lord's phallus.

"Sansa?"

With tearstained eyes, she looked at him and winced slightly at the pain, but nodded and groaned, "I'm well now. You may move."

Sansa's permission was all he needed, the sensation of her tightness pulling his cock into her growing intolerable, and he pulled out slowly before thrusting back into her warmth hard.

When her tears fell from blue eyes that had witnessed too much sorrow in her short lifetime, Tyrion kissed her stomach and cursed his stature. As he pistoned his cock into his wife's cunny, he brought his thumb down to press and rub her clitoris. By the sounds of mixed pain and pleasure now emanating from Sansa, her climax was impending. He yearned to bring her climax faster, end her pain sooner and see his family depart earlier.

"Oh, yes!" Sansa cried out, feeling the pressure coiling in her belly release.

"Fuck the Seven!" Tyrion bellowed as he came seconds after his wife.

Their coupling over and Sansa's virginity taken, Tyrion fell beside her. Neither spoke as their breathing evened out and sweat rolled off their bodies.

The bystanders stood watching the pair as they regained their breath before the Hand ordered the soldiers out of the room.

"Well, welcome to the family, My Lady _Lannister_. Now, that you're incontestably your husband's wife, I wish you all the luck in providing him with an heir, tall with Lannister looks, to Winterfell. I expect an announcement within the year, else I will know the reason why and will have all your nights watched."

Both Tyrion and Sansa understood his meaning, that no matter what feelings or opinions on their coupling had arisen, they would need to continue their physical relationship, at least until Sansa took with child.

"Yes, my lord." Sansa answered, suddenly becoming cognisant of her nakedness and that of her bedfellow, tugging the bedclothes over her bosom.

As Tywin, Cersei and Joffrey quit the room, the newlyweds overheard Tyrion's sister say to her son that she still did not see what the fuss over Tyrion's libido and sexual prowess was about. Joffrey merely laughed in response.

Sansa, spent from her first experience of sex, in a moment of vulnerability turned into Tyrion's open arms and pulled his other around her.

"What is this, lady?" Tyrion asked, more than expecting that she would leap out of the bed at her earliest opportunity and flee his presence.

"Comfort, husband," Sansa replied automatically, "and gratitude. My wedding night may not have been what I wanted or expected in my girlish years but I will say this…I now know what the 'fuss' (as your sister calls it) is about."

Tyrion could see she was moments away from drifting asleep and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. Caressing softly the angry welt that was forming on her cheek from his nephew's treatment of her, he felt proud to know such a woman was now his lady.


	2. Chapter II

Author's Note: I hope you are still enjoying this story as much as I am enjoying writing it. Please do leave reviews and favourite it as it will definitely be completed seeing as I've finished it already! I am going to see the new _Star Wars_ film tomorrow (I began writing this chapter on Boxing Day 2015) so have all my creative juices flowing thanks to the great idea to revive one of my favourite franchises of all time.

 **DAENERYSTARGARY3N**

* * *

 _ **"You know how much I love my family"**_

 _2 months later…_

Sansa was in shock. She felt as though she were being prematurely torn in two by what - she could not bring herself to refer to it as a 'who' - was thriving within her. It seemed too soon, it had happened too soon for her to ready herself for the possibility of conceiving a child. She had believed that with her husband's…condition, sterility would be the accompanying gift.

"What if…" Sansa whispered in abject fear.

She felt ashamed of herself for dreading her child's birth, but knowing what had befallen the Lady Joanna, her lord husband's mother, she could not resist the strong feelings of fear and anxiety brewing in the pit of her stomach. She was slight in frame and Tyrion had remarked on how tight she was. What if she was too narrow to birth a malformed dwarf-child? Would she die in childbed and leave a baby of her flesh and blood, of Stark lineage to her captors in only Tyrion's care?

"Tyrion!" Sansa exclaimed, thinking of her husband at long last.

Her husband was the bane of his family and her only ally in King's Landing. He had been gallant in the wake of their catastrophic wedding night, never seeking her company or her touch outside of their conjugal bed. He even performed his marital duties with her speedily, ever apologetic but ever mindful of her mood and pleasure.

The Septa who confirmed Lady Lannister's suspicions that she was with child was in the pocket of the Hand of the King and while she accepted that it was a mother-to-be's right to divulge her condition to her husband and family, she warned the young Stark woman to be hasty, for if, after a day, she kept her condition secret or made attempts to rid herself of "the Imp's cursèd offspring", she would go over Sansa's head and inform Tywin Lannister of his daughter-in-law's state herself.

Sansa loathed the dirty politics and corruption that occurred within the Red Keep. She was a Stark. The daughter of Eddard Stark who had been raised to value honour and justice above all else. Residing in the capital where it seemed none had heard of those things, and nothing could pass without some hidden agenda or manipulation soiling it.

Tonight was her only opportunity to inform the other Lannisters of her impending motherhood before the chance was usurped by bought Septas. It was to be one of the Hand's mandatory family banquets where all members of the royal family had to attend and share thoughts on the Seven Kingdoms and how the Lannister family could soar to even greater heights by paying off more courtiers.

Later, as she sat beside her lord husband, watching in contempt as Joffrey devoured a roasted leg of boar making her nauseous as a result, she concluded her belly would not settle and if she did not excuse herself from the table and provide good enough cause for her premature exit, then she would void her stomach before the unsympathetic audience that was her new family.

She rose steadily, drawing the gaze of the blondes around her, "Forgive me, Your Grace, My Lord Hand, Lady Cersei, my lord husband, I am unwell. I fear I must take my leave and retire for the evening."

Before she could explain herself, Joffrey in his usual rudeness and brash manner, beat her to the punch, "Maybe my uncle's seed has taken root and the dwarf sprog is already a source of shame for its mother."

Sansa's blue Tully eyes widened in fear, yet she squared up to the table and announced more proudly than she felt, "Your Grace is very perceptive. I am indeed with child. A child to be born after seven moons."

After the diners stared at Sansa for what seemed to her to be an eternity, Tywin rose to stand with her and led his family in expressing their gladness at Sansa and Tyrion's joyous news and permission for Sansa to return to her chambers and take great care of the Lannister heir to Winterfell and the North.

Expecting her father-in-law to have the final word, as he so often did at family gatherings and official ceremonies, Sansa began to extricate herself from between her chair and the table. Just before she began to turn away, His Grace's malevolent voice caught her attention.

"Well," Joffrey began, not meaning his 'aunt' well in the slightest, "now that the Stark bitch has been knapped by the Imp himself, there is no chance of her bearing any other family's descendant. That is _reassuring_. Now, she has done her duty and will - I have no doubt, for her and her child's sake - continue to perform her duties to the Lannisters by carrying the thing to full-term, I suppose she can service anyone."

Those words, those words dripping with threat and danger, sent ice directly to Sansa's heart. The king had made known his intent to continue his pursuit of his uncle's wife, and his pregnant wife at that. She had lulled herself into the belief that since her wedding and her forced first encounter with Tyrion, Joffrey had lost interest in her body. She had let her guard tumble down and like a craven, blackguardly knight, he had breached her defences and shattered her sense of security with arrowheads of ice.

Tyrion was in a cyclone of emotions since his wife took to her feet. Firstly, the mixture of pride and fear that rushed through his body when he learnt he had impregnated his young wife overwhelmed and terrified him to his core. Next, he was hit by a wave of relief when he felt the minimal - but visible - pride that his father felt towards him upon learning that the son he despised and mocked had fulfilled his wishes and provided him with the heir to the Stark legacies in the North. The final salvo that hit him was the most startling. The danger his despicable nephew posed to his wife and the mother of his child was now spoken and confirmed. The urge and paternal need to protect _his_ family from his brother and sister's child was paramount in that moment.

"I will escort you back to our chambers, Sansa," Tyrion announced, unwilling to let her be alone while they both processed Joffrey's words, "and I am sure I won't be missed, so no one here will mind my absence. Isn't that right, father?"

Though Tywin was a hard-hearted cunt when he believed he needed to be and when it suited him, Tyrion knew that out of all his relations, only Tywin wanted the child in Sansa's womb and its lady mother to be safe as much as Tyrion did. Even though Tywin's reasons were entirely political and material, in the effort to safeguard his wife and child, Tyrion could not have cared less why his father wanted Sansa protected.

"No, you shall not be missed. You may go with your wife."

The walk from Tywin's private dining rooms in the Tower of the Hand to Tyrion and Sansa's rooms was drawn out and wordless. Neither had the words or the wherewithal to discuss what had just been intimated to them by the king or what it meant for their future and that of their unborn child.

Once they reached the sturdy oak door to their private chambers, Sansa shoved it open violently and as soon as her husband passed its threshold, propelled it shut loudly before slumping down against it and curling her knees up to her breasts as if to guard her belly and the precious life that dwelled within.

Only when she felt Tyrion's bulbous fingers wipe away the moisture from her pale cheeks did she realise that she had started to weep. Instinctively Sansa leaned into his touch, appreciating her husband's warmth and constant acts of comfort in a world where a family's warmth had turned to cold and comfort was replaced by her captor's cruelty.

"Tyrion…" She whispered, her voice now hoarse.

He moved a hand down to find one of her own and held it tenderly as he replied, "I know, Sansa, I know. I was there."

Just the knowledge that she had someone who shared her grief, her fear and her child made Sansa feel lighter than she had ever felt in the time since her father's execution. Requiring more than words and a slight touch, she leaned her upper body down so she lay partly over Tyrion's lap.

He was surprised by his wife's show of emotion and vulnerability after eight weeks of minimal contact and merely civil interaction. As his wife was prostrate over his lap, all he could glimpse of her was her beautiful auburn hair. Not able any longer to caress her cheeks, he turned his attention to stroking her long and beautiful hair that spilled over her shoulders and back.

"We need to plan, Sansa," Tyrion said gently, his ministrations never ceasing, "since the imbecile that sits on the thrones has - for some reason that is beyond me - made it his mission to do you harm. We - no, I have no right to speak for what you need, - but mostly I, need to know that you are safe, that you _both_ are safe from whatever my nephew's twisted mind can concoct."

"He is the king. He can do what he wants to me. Your plans won't make a difference, nor will they protect the child."

Tyrion attempted to stifle the flinch that was the reaction to her denouncing him as a father that had not the capability to protect his family, but his attempt was fruitless.

Sansa wished she could have sucked the words back from the air between her and Tyrion, but she felt his midriff jerk as if he had balked at her harsh meaning.

"I apologise, my lord. That was uncalled for. Please forgive my cruelty; it was not meant."

Tyrion sighed but nodded his forgiveness, "Sansa, I am going to be frank with you. I have never been anything but honest with you since I met you but since I took you to wife I have known that this day was coming: the day when you and I might have to protect our child. I may not have anticipated His Grace's intentions to pursue you further once you became pregnant but that is only an added obstacle. It is a dangerous problem, but we cannot face it as of yet because you and I are still behaving as Stark and Lannister. That is the past, sweetheart," Tyrion declared, trying not to be as unfeeling as he tried an untested endearment to lessen the hurt of his words, "the Starks as they were are gone. Your father is dead and you have been married. I realise you have had the worst luck in bridegrooms and in not being given back to your brother in exchange for mine, as _I_ petitioned the king to do. Now, though, you are a Lannister, but you are _my_ Lannister. We are not my father or sister or nephew. We are a different kind of Lannister but Lannisters tied together nonetheless and being thus, we can - no, we must - be allies, or else you will be proven right, whatever plans I make and whatever stratagems I enact to make sure you are protected every minute of every day will fail and I have no doubt the consequences will be dire…for you, for me and for _our_ child growing in your belly."

Tyrion had not intended to rail at her and cause tears to flow in rivers down her cheeks once again, but he was glad she carried his child. He had almost given up hope that he would have a family other than his hateful sister and father, and the Kingslayer wherever he was. Sansa was his last hope for a family and even if she could not bring herself to love her husband, he would be a good father to their child; a child he desperately needed to see born safe and out of Joffrey's reach.

"You are happy I'm with child."

Tyrion nodded, unwilling to disown his own flesh and blood for a second.

"Even though you do not love me, you already love our child as I do," Sansa said, almost as if she were convincing herself of her husband's stance instead of telling him, "even though, since we were wed, all we've shared with each other is our bodies and our bed."

"Sansa," Tyrion called, drawing her up from his waist so he could look in her beautiful but sad eyes, "I may not be in love with you but the point is not that _all_ we've shared is the bed and sex, it is that we've shared it. It is the fact that you are my wife in name and in everything else. I would like to share more with you, as I would like you to be more open with me, but I have no wish to force your hand. More takes time and as long as we are allies and learn how to survive the coming months together, we can have more and we can find the happiness we crave. We can be good parents to the child we conceived, Sansa, but only if you truly accept your place here as my wife and accept me as your husband in more than your bed and your body."

Sansa glimpsed the strength in her husband for the first time that night. He had weathered his family's taunts and many injuries at their hands. Tyrion was her good husband. He was not the perfect husband of her naive, childish dreams…her Knight of the Flowers in appearance or in manner. Yet, it was slowly becoming indubitable to her that Tyrion Lannister was her Knight of the Flowers in their bed where he ensured she had her pleasure before he found his, in captivity in the Red Keep where he was her only constant and benefactor, in their equal marriage where his ability to survive matched hers and in parenthood where both had already fallen in love with their unborn child and pledged their every means and effort to protect them. She was also willing to concede that Tyrion had captured a piece of her heart in his respect for her and treatment of her since she had so callously humiliated him at the cloaking.

"I do accept you. I have ever since our wedding night when you were the only kind one in a room of cruel souls. You were knightly and honourable and heeded my suffering while you were in pain as well. That night you became a true friend, Tyrion, and I have been…guarded. I was frightened to discover I was with child for you and I am sorry I said such hurtful words to you when you have done nothing since my arrival in King's Landing to wound me and everything to protect me. I have no doubt, absolutely none, in my heart and mind that you will continue to protect me and our child from the king and the other Lannisters."

Tyrion was in awe of his wife. For a virtual child, who had aged in spirit since she had been brought before the kings and queens of the Seven Kingdoms, his lady wife spoke with the airs and graces of a queen and a formidable woman. Since Varys had relayed the news that Daenerys 'Stormborn' had become quite the powerplayer in Essos, Tyrion wondered often how a girl of her few years could have the presence and authority to wield such power, but looking at Sansa as she said her piece, it was plain to him what gave both his wife and the Khaleesi across the sea such fire. Both had endured the loss of their homeland, their loved ones and their freedom and that is what made them fierce as direwolves, lionesses and dragons. He was honoured that a woman such as Sansa Stark, the direwolf, had been made Sansa Lannister, _his_ lioness.

"I will protect you and our child with my life and with everything I have, Sansa, for you both are my greatest gifts and my last chance." Tyrion vowed, pressing his small, misshapen hand against his wife's still flat stomach.

Sansa laid her hand upon her ally's, her friend's and her husband's and smiled, feeling more confident and sure of her safety in King's Landing than she had ever before, "And I will protect you, Tyrion."

"What do I need protecting from, my dear?"

Treasuring the way the endearment fell from his lips for her, Sansa's smile grew and she replied, "While you may protect me and our child in body from the king and those who mean us harm, you need guarding from your family too, my lord. I have already said I have entrusted a small part of my heart to your guardianship as my friend, my husband and the father of my child. Yet if your father, your sister and her odious son continue to besiege your heart, then it will be hardened and you will wall it up so steeply that none will ever breach its battlements again. You will never know if I can love you as more than a husband and friend and our child will never know your heart. He will be like you, Tyrion, always longing for your love but never receiving it. I will protect your heart from your family as you protect my body. We will protect each other so that this child," she pressed both of their hands harder into her abdomen to emphasise her point, "can know the love of both its parents."


	3. Chapter III

Author's Note: I apologise for the delay in posting, I have to admit I forgot about this story in the past two months when I've been dealing with health issues and my job. However, please do read and review this chapter and in a week's time, I'll post the final chapter! I've already put it in my calendar so I won't forget and then _Tyche_ can have closure.

 **DAENERYSTARGARY3N**

* * *

 _ **"I must do my part for the honour of my house"**_

 _7 months later…_

"Bronn, please lend me your arm."

The sellsword immediately proffered his right arm to the lady clad in her house's colours of crimson and gold. He took some of her weight upon himself as the pair of them navigated the staircase that led up to the Maidenvault.

"I don't know how you manage it, Milady Lannister," Bronn said amicably to his mistress with whom he had struck up a bond over the past few months, "and I don't know why the Targaryen queens of old stood for it - being confined to the furthest reach of the keep simply because you've taken with child."

Sansa smirked and let out a soft giggle, rubbing her engorged belly that was straining slightly from the exertion of the stairs, "They had dragons to parade them from one side of this place to the other, and since the dragons are gone from Westeros, I'm afraid you'll have to be content with being my dragon. Though I am sorry your days are occupied with ferrying me from the Great Hall to this awful place. I know you'd much rather be fighting or sequestered in a brothel."

The lady's thoughts strayed to her lord husband and the child that stirred within her belly at the notion of brothels. She remarked how times had changed since she and Tyrion pledged themselves to each other once she learned she was with child. No longer did Tyrion take satisfaction from whores, instead they found pleasure and enjoyment in their marriage bed and in the blossoming of the unborn child created between them. Sansa had more than once in the past couple of months wondered whether she was not falling very much in love with Tyrion. Caressing the outline of her belly fondly, the mother-to-be realised that her heart had yet to declare its feelings outright for her lord but it trembled in her breast with love for the child he had put in her belly.

While his lady was lost in thought, her escort might have blushed at the fine lady's comment about his habit of frequenting Littlefinger's whorehouses but when he saw her wink, he thanked the Seven that Lord Tyrion's wife was such a woman who could laugh at common men satisfying their needs with common wenches.

"Aye, it's true, I would be happier…" Bronn began, but before he could complete his thought, an alarming din crashed down upon his ears.

Drawing his sword and pressing Lady Sansa between him and the nearest vaulted wall, Bronn's eyes darted here-and-there, searching for the approaching threat. He had recognised the sounds that were growing louder as they drew nearer. It was the sound of armour and steel against stone floors. It was not one man either, which worried Sansa's bodyguard but ten, at least, soldiers coming toward their position.

"Bronn?" Sansa asked endeavouring to coax her burgeoning fear back down inside herself.

"Stay quiet, milady," Bronn instructed brusquely, now in full defensive stance, "and for the sake of the child you carry, do not stray from behind me."

The lady did not have to voice her concurrence. She knew something very, very bad was about to befall her and her stalwart shadow. It was only a matter of time before they were overrun by whomever it was that meant her and her child harm. As she observed her companion, and her only source of protection, Sansa couldn't help but call out to her husband in her mind, her husband who was ensconced in the solar in their temporary quarters in the Maidenvault just beyond the next cloister.

Tyrion had insisted after their agreement on the night Sansa had revealed she was carrying that wherever Sansa went Bronn would go too. At first, both parties were disenchanted with the Imp's master plan to safeguard his family against the machinations of the king, but there had been a minor scuffle a few months back when Sansa's life would have been in danger had Tyrion's loyal sellsword not despatched the errant white cloak expediently. Since that day, both Sansa and Bronn had accepted that it was imperative that Sansa and her unborn child have a guard whom Tyrion could be certain would not be tempted to give her over to anyone, the king included. Besides, Sansa had appreciated the man's bonhomie, given that it was such a change from her lord husband's tendency to brood and fret.

Sansa's thoughts returned to her situation as it was unfolding and gasped as she beheld a dozen white cloaks all in their battle armour, not the pristine and ceremonial armour they donned to stand about the Great Hall looking handsome. They were ready for a fight, and though Bronn was an adept and tenacious swordsman, the odds were stacked against him.

"Well, well," an unwelcomely familiar nasal voice crooned, "look what we have here...a direwolf disguised as a lion. And what a freak of nature she is! Guards, you may remove this creature's keeper and throw him in the dungeon until his master sends for him. Though, once I'm finished with his charge, perhaps Uncle Imp will leave him there for _failing_ to keep his direwolf bitch and cub safe."

Bronn drew his longsword and held a common pointed dagger in his left hand but no amount of weapons could forestall the inevitable fall of Sansa's loyal sellsword. Bronn managed to fell three of Joffrey's bodyguards before he took a wound in his side and could fight no more. Two of His Grace's company dragged the wounded warrior from the corridor to the Maidenvault, leaving Sansa quite defenceless against Joffrey and the remaining six white cloaks.

"Hold her, men." Joffrey ordered brusquely, his voice dripping with danger.

Before Sansa could make for the stairs to her chambers where Tyrion was, ignorant of what had transpired, three of the Kingsguard grabbed her and pulled her back so she was trapped against the cold, hard wall. It was only when a fourth and fifth approached her and lifted her legs off the ground, baring her up to the king for his pleasure that Lady Lannister felt the horror of what was about to be inflicted upon her wash over her.

"Very good. Now," the king said, dropping his silken cape to the floor and bringing his hands down to unbuckle his belt and remove his hose, "only the most beautiful maids and trained whores have had my cock inside them. Nothing but the best for the King of the Andals and the First Men. Yet I've always wondered how the cunt of a fat, pregnant hussy would feel clenching around my royal cock. Would you like to feel a king's cock, milady? Would you like me to fuck you? I promise you'll feel every part of it, more than my uncle's dwarfed cock at any rate."

Sansa felt her throat dry up and somehow she could not find any words to give in response to Joffrey's threats and promises of pain. She was utterly alone and abandoned to whatever ordeals he wished to inflict on her form.

She had no more time to think of what to say to her sovereign. Once he realised that a quick answer was not coming from his victim, Joffrey strode into the gap between her parted thighs and tugged away her undergarments before sheathing himself with one thrust in her dry, unwilling womanhood. Unable to keep the pain secret within her, Sansa let out a scream at the excruciating intrusion which only seemed to fuel her attacker's libido since he pulled away only to plunge back into her just as violently.

As Joffrey pistoned into her and Sansa's pain burgeoned around him, her throat became hoarse and her screams died. She pushed her thoughts away from her body's cries and into the back alleys and long-forgotten vaults in her mind. There she found succour and some semblance of comfort in thoughts of Tyrion and impending motherhood to a child who had the best of both its parents and their unconditional love.

"Scream! Let me hear you, Sansa! Scream for me!"

Sansa was dragged from her meditation by the king's demands, but after a moment of peace separated from the torture he was inflicting on her body, the pain seemed manageable. She would not do as her king bid, but instead shot him a smug smirk when she saw his visage scrunched up tight in the moments before he found his release.

"I scream for no man but my lord husband, _nephew_ ," she spat, feeling brave, "and you may take my body in your cruelty. It will recover from the injuries you have inflicted on it this day as it has before, but my heart belongs to my husband and in his keeping it stays far away from you. Further, Your Grace, my child - your cousin - remains unharmed but I warn you...do not wish my baby ill else you will never know peace again should you cause injury to another member of my family!"

The Lady Lannister's words took all around her by surprise. Such words of strength and ferocious protectiveness of her family being spoken while her rapist was still sheathed in her up to his hilt was exceptional. The white cloaks had been coerced into aiding the king with many acts of perversion and sexual deviance but never had a poor wench he set his eyes on fought back with such vigour. Alas, the king's aunt was not left unpunished for her courage.

Joffrey pulled back, his eyes widening as the traitor bitch he had taken made his cock soft with her threats and audacity. She would pay for the embarrassment of her king and pay dearly. He swung his hand back and with an open palm struck the auburn-haired beauty violently across the cheek, which echoed through the hall with the crack of skin-on-skin contact followed by a crack as Sansa's nose broke.

The noise resulting from the strike almost drowned out the soft, menacing voice that said, "Well, it seems that the best lionesses are fashioned from direwolves."

Joffrey whipped round and took in a sight that truly sent shivers down his royal back. Standing on the steps leading up to the Maidenvault was Tyrion, whose mismatched eyes were wide with rage but whose lips had turned upwards upon hearing his lady wife's indomitable retort to the king's assault. Behind his diminutive form stood outraged behind him his father, Bronn, who was favouring his left side but clutching his sword ready to rescue his lady fair and twenty Lannister guards.

Needless to say, only two men had the ability to truly scare the king and Tywin Lannister, his Hand, was one of them. Jaime, his unacknowledged father being the other. The sight of his grandfather surrounded by highly trained soldiers, all of whom would obey him and only him even if it meant deposing the king, was terrifying.

"Guards, please place these members of the Kingsguard under arrest and escort them to the dungeons unharmed," Tywin ordered tersely, "and remove my worm of a nephew to his chambers and hold him there. He is to receive no visitors until I allow it."

"You cannot do that! I am the King! I cannot be confined thus, not by the Hand, and not even by you, grandfather!" Joffrey protested.

As the red cloaks approached him, he backed away from his aunt who was being lowered by the guards who had held her in place to be violated. He drew his sword and brandished it wildly before him in an attempt to distance himself from his inevitable arrest.

"If His Grace resists arrest," Tywin said, addressing his own men but glaring at the unyielding monarch, "use any means to ensure he goes quietly."

With no hesitation once the order was given, the red cloaks avoided Joffrey's blade and with a swift blow to the head rendered him unconscious. They then hoisted him up between them and silently bore him far away from the Maidenvault and his shuddering, violated aunt who remained sprawled on the floor where she had been brutally hurt.

Tyrion, who had been maintaining his hold on his flaring temper since he rounded the corner to the corridor just beyond his rooms to find his nephew between his wife's restrained thighs, the evidence of his presence clear on her cheek, nose and he grimaced that it would be now leaking from her womanhood. He let his father's men dispense with the king and the craven Kingsguard soldiers who had merely held his wife down while she was entered over and over again completely against her will.

Once Tyrion and Sansa were alone with only Bronn maintaining an unobtrusive watch on the couple, the dwarf hurried down the stairs as fast as he was able to help his wife where she lay.

"Sansa, Sansa," Tyrion called as he waddled over to her, wishing she would look up at him just to prove that she could, "here, love, I'm here."

She felt her husband pull her skirt back down over her legs and cover her in his cloak to warm her trembling body. She threw herself into his arms and knew that if she tried to move from the cold floor she would fall. His hands ran up and down her spine as he attempted to soothe her and lessen the effects of the shock that was running rampant through her nervous system.

"Sansa love," Tyrion crooned, trying to stave off his own tears at his wife's pain, "try to breathe. Just breathe. No one can hurt you now. It's over. It's all over. You're safe."

"Tyrion?" Sansa croaked, unable to keep her voice from breaking.

"Yes, love, what can I do?"

"Hold me. Right here. I don't think I can move yet and my belly hurts." Sansa confessed, her mind becoming aware once more of her injuries.

"Your belly? Sansa, the child..." Tyrion asked fearfully.

"I don't know. I don't know what Joffrey's done to the baby. Aaah!"

Bronn turned round when he heard his mistress' loud scream. He had not overheard the rest of his friends' dialogue but when the exclamation in pain came forth from Sansa's lips he could not help himself but observe the pair on the floor. What he saw was his master and friend's horror-stricken face as a pool of blood and water drenched his wife's gown and ran onto the stone floor.

"The baby...Tyrion, the baby's coming!" Sansa shrieked.

The Imp felt exactly like his cruel nickname in that moment, the moment when his child's arrival was impending and he was not prepared. As his traumatised and pregnant wife clutched at her swollen belly as labour pains gripped her, all he could do was stare.

He found his sellsword's eyes and with a surprising tone of calm authority ordered, "Bronn, fetch my father and tell him his grandchild is on its way. Have one of his guards go to fetch a midwife and a physician to the Maidenvault. I will get Sansa to our chambers."

Within seconds, Sansa and Tyrion were alone and made the slow journey to their rooms, her contractions and hurts from the attack delaying them some. Tyrion gently assisted his lady wife onto the bed and suppressed his anger at the situation they found themselves in because of Joffrey's actions. His rage was unimportant while Sansa struggled to bring their heir into the world. There would be time to take his revenge on his sister's son once he had his own child safe in his arms.

Tywin and Bronn arrived shortly and brought the news that a midwife and a Maester had been summoned. Before Tyrion could inquire, Tywin assured him that Grand Maester Pycelle would be nowhere near Sansa while she gave birth. Both parents and Bronn were relieved to learn that the lecherous old bastard would not be delivering the heir to Casterly Rock.

When a middle-aged man and a young woman entered room and set to work preparing Sansa for her delivery, helping her out of her cumbersome gown and into a shift, Tywin and Bronn departed but to everyone's surprise Tyrion made no move to leave.

"Milord Lannister," the midwife said, affronted by his apparent desire to be present for the birth of his firstborn, "accompany Lord Tywin and your man. This is woman's work and no wife desires her husband's company while she gives birth."

Her words came perilously close to sending Tyrion careening over the ledge into the abyss of choler he had been avoiding, but no obnoxious chit of a midwife was going to force him from his wife's side, not after what she had just endured. Sansa's deep mistrust of all who worked in the Red Keep and lived in King's Landing had lessened since they became true husband and wife but after suffering Joffrey's attentions he had no doubt she would find being in a state of vulnerability along with their child with only strangers about her strenuous.

"First, girl, you do not order me about as if I were a pageboy. I am a Lannister. I may be the Imp of House Lannister but I am a Lannister and you will show me the respect my name deserves. Secondly, I will not be leaving my lady wife. She has just undergone the most violent assault, hence why our child is arriving earlier than anticipated, and I was not there for her then, so I'll let the Warrior fuck me up the back alley before I leave her in pain now!"

Fortunately for her, the midwife let it go and told Maester Domel that the father would be present throughout the proceedings. Tyrion followed her and took up his station beside his wife on their bed.

"Tyrion, you're here." Sansa puffed out as a contraction ripped through her.

"Of course, my love. I'm sorry I wasn't there before. I might have been able to do something to save you from my piss poor excuse for a nephew. You will never know how sorry I am that I could not shield you from what you've just experienced, wife." Tyrion confessed as he rubbed her taut belly through her flimsy shift, hoping to take away some of the strain.

"I'm glad you weren't there. You have many talents, husband, but fighting white cloaks is not one of them and I would be sad to have no father for my child," Sansa said breathlessly before another contraction siphoned her strength, "especially when that father is you."

While her labour progressed quickly, the anxious parents worked through Sansa's pains together and spoke words of comfort and love while the midwife and Maester did their work. Three hours later, both declared Sansa ready to start to bear down.

An hour into her final efforts, Sansa's fortitude began to wither and she sobbed into her husband's chest, "I cannot do this, not anymore, Tyrion. It hurts too much."

Tyrion, who had noticed the brows of the Maester and midwife pucker in worry, felt his imaginative mind go back to his own birth when his mother perished expelling a dwarfed babe too malformed for her to survive the ordeal. He had feared throughout Sansa's pregnancy that the child in her belly would be dwarfed and would suffer the same indignities and unkindnesses that he had. Yet now, when his labouring wife expressed the same hopelessness that he was sure his mother must have in her last moments alive, his chest seized and clenched painfully around his heart.

"Sansa, listen to me," Tyrion instructed her, holding her clammy cheeks between his hands, "on this day, you have done such extraordinary things. You have withstood Joffrey's attack, you fought and kept yourself and this child alive, you are about to become a mother and most brilliantly, you told Joffrey he was impotent to hurt you because you've given your heart to me. So, my love, don't give up now and leave me with just your heart, as I'm quite in love with the rest of you too. You've just got to fight for a while longer and then our child will be here and I promise we'll leave this place and go to Casterly Rock. Just fight one last time, Sansa!"

The fatigued woman beside the dwarf for a minute did not know if she was going to shove him out of the bed for being so demanding while she was in so much pain or kiss him soundly on the mouth for professing his love to her and promising to take her away from the hell that the Red Keep was for her. She decided on the latter while her contractions allowed her a brief moment of respite and pulled Tyrion by his doublet into her embrace and crashed her trembling lips down upon his.

Once her contractions resumed their chokehold on her body, Sansa lay down in Tyrion's arms, taking strength from his body while she pushed with all she had left in her.

"Well done, milady," the midwife exhorted gleefully, "just bear down once more on your next contraction and you'll have the baby in your arms."

"Good girl. You're nearly there, my lioness, and then our child will see how lucky it is to have you as its mother, even though it'll have me as a father."

Tyrion finished his speech just as the contraction hit and Sansa gripped his arms tightly as she screamed and pushed until she felt emptiness and relief. She heard an infant's cry and curled further into Tyrion's embrace, needing him to hold her up when her child was deposited into her arms.

"You have a daughter, milord and lady." The Maester announced.

"Milady? Lady Lannister?" The young midwife exclaimed in fright as she prepared to deliver the afterbirth.

Tyrion and the Maester turned their attention away from the newborn and back to her mother. Tyrion watched as Sansa's face which had been flushed and pink with life drained of colour and turned alarmingly into a shade resembling chalk.

"What? What's happening?" Tyrion asked the conscious occupants of the room, before turning back to his semi-conscious wife, "Sansa?"

"I don't understand, Maester. What's wrong with her? She shouldn't be so pale. She's not bleeding and her heart is steady."

"It is unclear." The Maester replied calmly but unhelpfully obtusely.

"Sansa, love, what can you feel?" Tyrion asked his wife frantically, watching as her eyes struggled to remain open.

"I just feel cold and weak. What's the matter with me? Where's the baby?"

"Sansa, our daughter is fine. We don't know why you're so pale or so unresponsive. Just try to stay awake, stay with me." Tyrion begged.

"I will. I want to see our daughter and I'd miss her father with whom I've completely, utterly fallen in love."

Tyrion could not believe how beautifully she expressed her love for him but before he could find his own way to reciprocate her feelings, her eyes shut.


	4. Epilogue

Author's Note: I actually wrote this chapter first due to a chronic case of writer's block, so this is the first author's note I've written for this story. I hope you enjoy reading it and understand it for what it is: it's a story about finding happiness in the family you're given rather than the family you're born with, which could have been the case with the Lannisters had GRRM decided it would be so. It's a new theme to me, usually my stories end with more angst and are less fairytale endings, but just for Tyrion and Sansa, I needed to give them this ending and the new family they both deserve. I won't bore you all to death at this juncture with my sad family history, but this particular theme is important to me and a struggle for me to write but I'm hoping it will become a theme I approach more often in my writing so any feedback whether negative or positive - as long as it's constructive - would be much appreciated. I will however dedicate this chapter to my godparents and their son and his wife, who are the family I chose when I needed another one.

 **DAENERYSTARGARY3N**

* * *

 **"** **You cannot build a better world on your own"**

 _5 months later…_

"There, there, sweetling, there's no reason to fuss, none at all."

"If you would have told me a year ago that I'd be standing here while you held a baby and spoke like a wet nurse I would not have believed you for all the whores in Lannisport!" Bronn teased goodnaturedly.

Tyrion looked up from the adorable visage of his darling daughter and glared at his right-hand man for almost a minute before growling, "Mind your own business, sellsword. And don't think I'm fool enough or ignorant enough not to see your behaviour around my daughter. I found one of your rings in her cradle last week and I know she didn't prise it off your finger."

"What can I say? Little Mistress Lannister giggled at me and that was that. Fell in love, I did, hook, line and sinker."

"She has that effect on people." The proud father said warmly, returning his mismatched eyes to his daughter's angelic face.

"That she does," Bronn agreed, "but seeing as you're probably going to do nothing but play and coddle your babe all day, I'm going to go find the lad and spar with him for a time."

Tyrion could not tear his eyes away from the precious bundle in his arms just to dismiss his shadow. So, with a wave of his hand, Bronn was gone and Lord Lannister sat in his bedchamber with only Mistress Lannister, and the still indisposed and comatose Lady Lannister for company.

Lady Sansa Lannister had not roused since giving birth to her daughter and Tyrion had fought tooth and nail to keep his wife resting in their quarters of the Red Keep while the Septas, his father, Cersei and Bronn, who merely did not like the idea of his friend always being so cruelly reminded of his wife's tragic state, had petitioned to have her sent away. That was something Tyrion would not consider, not even in his darkest moment when his demons told him his lady wife would never open her eyes again. He would keep her close so she would know her daughter's gurgles and his voice even as she strayed further away from him. He knew that one day, one day soon, Sansa would wake up and when that joyous day occurred, he and their daughter would be there to greet her and welcome her home to her family.

"Well, my love," Tyrion sighed, looking at his daughter but taking his wife's still hand, "she's growing. She seems to grow another inch every time I put her down, so much so that I cannot bear to have her out of my arms for fear that she'll change again and you'll have missed another part of her infancy. She's so beautiful, my darling, she's so much like you it hurts. She has your eyes, your nose, your hair. I swear on the Seven she is as beautiful as her mother and I'm so glad you're her mother. I thank my lucky stars that you are here with me, love, even though you're not awake yet. You are my good fortune and have given me such a gift in our daughter. I do need you to wake up, Sansa, to come back to me, to us. I haven't even named the child. She's been nameless for five months and we can't have her grow up as Mistress Lannister. So, come back and we'll have her naming ceremony."

Tyrion finished his daily plea to his wife to regain consciousness. It was late in the day and since he would not permit anyone other than himself to take care of Sansa's child while she could not, he had woken with her on many occasions during the night and liked to put her down earlier and get the most out of the hours when she slept most soundly - just before dusk - to sleep too. So, gracefully moving with the child to her beautifully carved Lannister-red bassinet featuring a bespoke silver and black lion. For, as the young mistress who slept in the wooden bed was the perfect blend of Lannister and Stark blood, it seemed appropriate that the furniture reflect its occupant.

The first thing she became aware of was the stiffness. Not pain, not soreness, just a sensation of tension pervading through her body, which felt more like a corpse in the moment she regained consciousness. Her entire form felt as though it was being weighed down by all the Valyrian steel in Westeros. She could not comprehend why she suddenly felt like Old Nan on a winter's morning with a stiff back, rigid muscles and an inability to recall what the day was.

"Tyrion..." Sansa moaned as she attempted to sit up in the bed she recognised as the one she shared with her spouse.

When she turned to the left side of their huge bed where he usually slept to find empty space all around her. It was truly unheard of for her to wake after her husband, therefore the solitude in bed unnerved her and immediately she knew she shouldn't be searching for her lord husband but her newborn whom she must have to feed by now if she had fallen asleep presently after her child, who would need to be named quickly as well, was born.

Searching her capacious quarters for signs of other human life, she spotted many things out of place. Impossibly out of place. There were signs that a small child had played around the rooms for some time. There were signs that her husband who was dozing in his chair, which she knew he loathed to sleep in since it always led to pains in his neck, had been overly taxed for more than overnight. The rooms were in a state of

disarray which matched his appearance with his unshaven face and untidy garments. There were signs that she had been asleep for more than a night.

"My daughter."

Sansa knew that the proof of how much time she had been away from the man she loved and the baby she adored would be evident in her daughter, in how big her daughter was. Even the idea that she had missed things, missed moments, missed feelings in her daughter's life broke something primal, visceral and maternal within her heart. So as she crept over to the bassinet that lay in an alcove in front of her bed, Sansa prepared herself for the very probable reality that was going to strike her when she came face-to-face with her babe.

She could not suppress the gasp that rose up within her when her eyes fell on her sweetly slumbering baby. The baby that was not a newborn. The baby that was about four months old by the look of her. The tears came soon after the gasp and they showed no sign of stopping.

It seemed her daughter was well aware of her mother's distress and was beginning to stir. Sansa could see that Tyrion had been everything and everyone to their child during her indisposition and now she was awake, she could let him sleep for a while longer as she cared for her precious one.

"There, there, my dearest," Sansa crooned, picking up the baby, praying silently that she recognised her mother's touch and wouldn't cry, "I'm here now. I'm here and I'm so sorry for being away for so long. Your father has taken such good care of you. Mother will have to ask what your name is when he wakes up but I think you have been running him ragged so we'll let him rest awhile. Your name can wait."

Unbeknownst to the new mother, her husband was rising with the sun feeling the typical neck ache he endures every morning. While Sansa lingered on in her coma he could not bear to sleep beside her. The neck ache was a consequence. His first glance, once he didn't hear his daughter's coos and gurgling that signalled her wakening, was to the bed.

"Sansa! Who has taken my wife? Where is she? Bronn! Bronn, Sansa is missing!" Tyrion roared, the lion within angered by the absence of its direwolf.

"Tyrion, hush! Don't make her cry!" Sansa chastised.

"Sansa!"

The vacant, stunned, enraptured expression that spread over Tyrion's features would have made Sansa fall in love with her husband all over again. She'd never seen anyone so happy to see her, especially not when she was only dressed in a cotton nightgown holding a baby to her breast.

Tyrion ran to his wife and pulled her down to him and kissed her. He had missed her lips, her taste and the feeling of her beautiful body against him. He had dreamt of her profession of love for him each night since she drifted away, her last words to him five months ago. All of the joy, love and desire he would have felt for her and showered upon her had she been sentient hit him in the second their lips connected. He was sure that he would have led her to their bed to rechristen it had their daughter not reminded her parents of her presence with a resounding bawl, which Tyrion recognised as the sign of her hunger.

Sansa giggled, "She's an insistent one for attention."

"She's hungry, my love. Maybe her mother could feed her? She's most likely tired of her father feeding her. It's been a long five months without you."

"Five months? She can't be more than four months old!" Sansa exclaimed.

"She fell sick, love, a month ago. She recovered well but it's made her small for her age. The weight will come back in time. We did think we might lose her for a time but she's her mother's daughter."

"Oh my poor angel," Sansa nearly sobbed, caressing her daughter's cheek as she suckled at her mother's teat, "thank the gods we didn't lose you before I could know you. But that does remind me. What's her name, Tyrion?"

A guilty expression flooded her husband's face and he muttered, "She has no name. I couldn't name her without you, sweetheart. I had to wait for you to come back to me, to come back to us."

Sansa gave her fraught lover a chaste but apologetic kiss. She could not imagine the sorrow, heartache and tension her poor husband had suffered through in her absence for nearly half a year, surviving and waiting for her alone with their daughter.

"We'll have to choose her name. She cannot grow up as Mistress Lannister."

Tyrion grinned and laughed at how similarly they thought. He did agree with his lady wife though. Their daughter needed her name.

"Now that our family is back together, my own Lady Lannister, and I thank my good fortune and good luck for that, you can have the honour of naming our daughter. She is your mirror image, after all, with her red hair and your blue eyes. Thank the Seven she does not resemble her father! That would have been a cruel fate."

"Good fortune! Don't you see, love? Good fortune!" Sansa declared.

"Speak sense, or I'll summon the Septa to examine you for damage to your pretty head!"

"Her name, Tyrion. Her name! She is our good luck. She is the embodiment of our good fortune. That should be her name. If I remember my High Valyrian, the word is rather beautiful."

Both parents recalled the name at the same time in perfect synchronicity, "Tyche."

Once their glee at how well-matched they are subsided, they looked at the sweet child who was coming to the end of her first nursing at her mother's breast. Neither one could fathom how they were so lucky, so lucky to have Tyche Lannister as their daughter.


End file.
